Behind Closed Doors
by mg cullen
Summary: Edward Cullen is a famous yet bitter author in his late 30's. When Bella Swan comes asking for help, will he take advantage of the young and naïve 17-year-old girl? OOC, ExB
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own Twilight.

After hours of endless walking, 280 Spartan Avenue turned out to be just across the street from where she was standing.

She took in the beautiful houses, and the beautiful trees, and then for the tenth time in the day, she looked into the paper resting in her hands hoping it had been magically re-written. Yet, there it lay, clear as daylight: _280 Spartan Avenue._

The house was a phenomenal dump.

Maybe what they said about authors being poor was true, she thought, and so she led it slide and rang the bell. When there was no answer, she knocked on the door till her hand was pounding in pain.

It was nearing midnight and across the street, some had gathered around to stare. She could clearly see why, for the house which surely was once a fine-looking mansion was now nothing but creepy.

She was about to turn around and leave, when a man in his late thirties came to the door looking more than pissed.

Edward Cullen was resting his body against the doorframe while holding the door open with his right hand. She noticed the short spiky growth of beard on his face and his bloodshot eyes and she wondered whether he had a bit of a beer stomach beneath his button down, but quickly looked away.

"Isabella." He stated.

"How do you know my name?" She squeaked, completely caught off guard.

"Intuition" he muttered. "What do you want?"

"May I come in?" She said, while she bit her lip.

He didn't say a word, but turned around and walked into the house leaving the door open.

The house smelled of humidity and old junk but she kept quiet as she followed him trough the long, dark hall. She went into his living room and quietly watched as he took a seat in the middle of the big couch. In front of him, on the table, a lighted cigarette was resting on a glass, surrounded by loose handwritten pages, most of them ripped.

She shifted her feet not knowing exactly what to do.

"I thought you could read some of the stuff I have written and give me your opinion," she sputtered.

"That's it?" he said in a bored, businesslike tone.

"I could help you," she said weakly, desperate.

"Help me with what?"

"I could be… your assistant or something"

"What makes you think I need an assistant?"

"I could just… type what you have written or… check your spelling mistakes…"

"What spelling mistakes?" he asked sharply, finally looking into her eyes.

"You know…" she fidgeted, "spelling mistakes. They are pretty common. Everybody makes them. Besides, we could talk about what we wrote and-"

"Is this some sad attempt to catch my attention?"

"Is not!" she shrieked. "I-I just want to learn how to write. _Really_ write."

"Shouldn't you be at school or something?"

"Not right now," she mumbled.

When he didn't say a word, Isabella knew he was probably going to send her off home like everyone else. He wasn't going to take her seriously. Not until she was old enough. Like there was a specific age in which one is old enough to start writing…

"Ok." He said after a long pause. "I'll read twenty pages. Give me more than that and I won't read it."

"Yes!" she squealed. "Thank you! You won't regret this"

"Uhu. Not so sure… you can go now" he said, looking back towards the pages while she walked away.

She was almost out the door, when she heard his voice for the last time.

"Isabella? Why me? Don't tell me it's because you like any of my novels. I know it's not true."

From the couch, he waited for the sweetest most innocent voice he had heard for a long time, to come again.

"Because you are the only writer I know," she said.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I don't own twilight  
To **Keilo**, who, for some fantastic reason, has me next to amazing writers on the Favorite Authors list

_Love is like a friendship caught on fire._

Dreading the moment he would have to cross the threshold, Edward stood still, facing the sign on the door that mockingly read: "Jasper Withlock: Publisher".  
He could think of _so_ many other words much more fitting…  
"_Jasper Withlock: traitor"_, he thought trying to hold in his bitter laughter. "_Jasper Withlock: complete fucking asshole"._

He had met Jasper during his last year at college. They shared a unique love for cigarettes and literature, so it was only a matter of time before they met and became friends.  
Then one particular day, Jasper's aversion to classic poetry astonished Edward so that he wrote a scary story, just for him, just for the kicks, though he didn't usually write stories of that sort. It turned out to be the best thing he had ever written.  
As soon as college was over, Jasper became his publisher. He was as sure of Edward's potential as he was of his ability to sell it, all around the world.  
True to his words, Edward's first novel sold thousands of copies and so did the second, and the third and the fourth… It was rare for they were so young, yet everybody could see how together they were an unstoppable force.  
At the moment, admiration for Jasper welled up in Edward, for all he had achieved was mostly thanks to him. But now, how he wished he could give it all back; all the money and fame and prestige, just to never have met Jasper. For Jasper to never have met Alice.

_Alice_.

Against his will, Edward remembered her eyes and her smell, and the way she had smiled the first time they met. He remembered how she took his breath away, as well as his heart and his dreams, and how she still had all of them. And then he remembered how he had never gathered the courage to kiss her, to claim her.  
_She must have known. Everybody knew._

_Jasper knew._

He barely had time to take in another gulp of air, when the door opened.  
Alice came to the door looking as beautiful as ever and Edward couldn't help but wonder if the pain in his heart would ever fade away.  
"Edward!" Alice said, shocked to see him after so long.  
"Mrs. Withlock." He returned bitterly, flashing his eyes for the first time towards the newly acquired wedding ring.  
"Edward…" she whimpered, tears welling up on her eyes, "I'm so sorry".  
He was about to say something else, when another voice calling his name, stopped him.  
Jasper was standing still as a statue at the door that gave way to his office, afraid of scaring away the man he had known for more than twenty years: his best friend.  
_Was it wrong to still call him his friend after all that had happened?  
Edward stepped away from the trembling Alice, towards Jasper, extending a manuscript for him to catch.  
__Possibly the last one_, Edward thought.  
"Congratulations," said Edward to the newly weds, and without another word, he walked away.  
Jasper didn't take his eyes away from the manuscript. He was afraid to find longing on his wife's face and so he opened the first page, to read the exact same words that headed all of Edward's novels:

"To A.

My first word and my last phrase, all of it, is hers."

* * *

Leaving Jasper's office, Edward found himself walking beneath the pouring rain. For a second he almost laughed thinking his life looked like the chapter of some cheesy novel. Yet, he couldn't find it in himself the will to do so.  
As he came close to his house, he found a shuddering figure standing at his door, completely soaked.

_Isabella_.

Momentarily entranced, he noticed her erect nipples and the way her school uniform hugged all of her curves, and then quickly looked away.  
He saw her pressing something beneath her sopping t-shirt and quickly understood the house call. Looking into her forced smile, he spoke.  
"What's with the urgency? You could have come some other day or left it on the mailbox or something" he said, irritated. He was in no shape to see anyone, not now, much less to read some stupid story written by a sixteen-year-old girl.  
Isabella stood quiet; she was afraid of saying the wrong words.  
"It's ok." She said after a while. "I don't have anywhere else to go, anyway".  
Edward paused. He was trying not to read much into her words.  
"Isabella..." Edward started forcing an unconfortable laugh, "when you say 'anywhere else to go'…"  
"Yeah…" she finished, "like… nowhere else to go".

A/N: I'm back!


End file.
